


Stay

by captnalbatr0ss



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mild Gore, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 03:40:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7492053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captnalbatr0ss/pseuds/captnalbatr0ss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam does what he can to get Rafe off Avery's ship, but it's not enough. He struggles to come to terms with Rafe's death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay

* * *

 

Sam was up as soon as the weight of the beam lessened, scrambling backwards, relieved to be free. Nate was grabbing him, helping him up.

“You are one crazy son of a bitch—” His whole body hurt, but he was laughing.

“Yeah, well, takes one to know one.” Nate clapped him on the shoulder. “C’mon, let’s get the hell outta here before this whole place blows.”

Sam instinctively started to follow Nate, then paused. “Wait—Nathan, I gotta get Rafe.”

“Sam…”

Sam’s eyes narrowed at the expression on Nate’s face. “Hey, look, I know you’ve never really…taken to him. Whatever. But I can’t just leave him here, a'right? He might be—I mean, Jesus, Nathan, the whole place is burning, who knows how many of Avery’s traps could still go off before—” He shook his head, his mind was flitting between every worst case scenario he could think of. “Look, it’s complicated. There’s just a lot you don’t—understand. I can explain it all later, little brother. You go ahead, I’ll be quick—“

Sam started to turn, but Nate grabbed his arm. “Sam!—Sam… Rafe’s gone.”

“You’re sure?“ Sam let out a sigh, relieved. “Shit, Nathan. Why didn’t you say so?” He was grinning now, the weight lifting from his shoulders. “Did he leave with Nadine?”

Nate searched Sam’s face, saw he was serious, that he didn’t know.  _How could he not know?_ “No, Sam, Rafe’s… Rafe’s  _gone._ ”

Sam blinked, his expression first one of confusion, then one of utter disbelief. 

“What? Gone, like— No. When—? How could you…know that?”

Nate looked from Sam to the fallen treasure, the gold that spilled out across the old wooden boards.

Everything came crashing back down. Sam had still been coming to, it had all been so…fuzzy. Sam struggled to bring it into focus. The jarring clash of metal on metal. The voices. The vague outline of his brother, half shrouded in smoke. And someone else. Someone—

“No. But—wait, Nathan, no. No, I thought—” Sam’s heart practically stopped. “No. That was just some Shoreline asshole, not—”

Denial.

Nate was pulling on his arm harder. “Sam. No. It was Rafe. He was going to kill me, okay? He was…unstable. Look, I’m sorry, I know you two were…more than—” Nate sighed. “Listen to me, Sam, he’s dead. We need to leave. We have to go. Now.”

“You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, you—you have no idea how much he— Fuck.” Sam yanked his arm from Nate’s grip, stumbling toward the pile of gold. 

It was a race against the water now, bubbling up from the hole Nate made to get Sam out.

“Sam, there’s no time!”

He heard Nate shouting at him, but it sounded so distant. An echo.

He was tossing gold pieces, goblets, left and right, carelessly. Where the ropes had snapped was easier, where the treasure had broken free, but the bulk of it still held, and Sam wished he had a knife.

“Baby, baby, please—”

Sam’s voice caught in his throat. The water was rising. Taking back the pile of gold. 

And there was blood in the water. Too much blood.

“Shit. Shit. Shit. No.”

Sam began to dig more frantically. He saw a hand, an arm—Rafe’s watch. 

_Rafe._

There was a low ringing in his ears, adrenaline pumped through him, his whole body felt numb.

“Rafe. RAFE.”

There he was. The man Sam loved so desperately, even after they’d fought—even after Sam had stormed out. The man that Sam had shared everything with, the man that had finally shared back.

_I pushed him out— I pushed him to this—I did this._

“Oh no, oh no—no.” Sam tilted his head back, swallowed thickly. He couldn’t reconcile what he saw with what should’ve been. 

Rafe was almost unrecognizable.

His forehead was bleeding profusely. Half of his face was already turning a sick dark purple, bruised, broken. One eye was swelling, there was blood on his lips. 

Sam kept digging.

Rafe’s shoulder, part of his chest. His other arm, but it was—the angle was wrong, Sam could see muscle, bone. He barely suppressed the urge to vomit.

“Nonono, Rafe, sweetheart.  _Jesus._ ” His hand was, so gently, so tenderly, cradling Rafe’s head, lifting him slightly.

His fingers slipped on something hot, slick, and Sam’s face paled. His hands shook. The water lapped insistently against them, red. Red.

The tears were hot on his cheeks, they flowed free, flowed uncontrollably.

He took Rafe’s hand into his own, clutched it fiercely. 

“C’mon, sweetheart, squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”

Sam closed his eyes, his focus trained wholly on the feeling of Rafe’s hand in his.

Nothing.

“No—nonono, Jesus Christ, Rafe, don’t do this to me. You can’t—”

Pressure. So weak. Sam’s eyes widened, his heart lurched in his chest. He squeezed back.

“Oh—oh god, Rafe.  _Rafe?_ ”

He was there, just hanging on, just barely. 

The one eye not swelling was open, the other, a sliver. Those eyes that Sam could lose himself in.

“What do I do? What am I gonna do? How did this happen? Sweetheart, you gotta help me—how do I…how do I fix this?”

Rafe’s lips parted slightly, he tried to speak, but there was too much blood, so much blood, and it was just a strained, wet rattle.

Sam crumbled.

“Shhhhh, baby. It’s okay. You’re here. I got you. You’re with me, baby. Stay. Can you stay?”

Rafe’s grip on Sam’s hand tightened. He tried to keep his eyes on Sam’s, but he was fading. The pain was immense, unbearable.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Rafe, I’m sorry I ever left. Fuck. Fuck, I’m sorry for everything. There’s— Rafe, please, there’s so much I need to tell you—”

Sam knew Rafe’s body so well, knew his face, his eyes. Beyond the damage, the blood, Sam saw Rafe listening to him. Saw, and knew that Rafe heard. 

“I love you. Just…  _Wait_ , just wait. I can figure this out, I just need…” He was looking around again, knowing there was nothing he could do, refusing to accept it. The water kept rushing, rising. And Sam’s eyes kept frantically searching, helpless.

Rafe’s grip weakened, drawing Sam’s eyes back to him.

“Sweetheart?”

But Rafe’s hand had gone limp. He was slipping.

Sam leaned closer, brushing the hair from Rafe’s face, smoothing it back. 

“I love you. Baby, it’s always been you.”

Sam closed his eyes, pressed his lips to Rafe’s, a ghost of a kiss, a promise.

He pulled back when he felt Rafe’s body tense, tighten.

“Hey—hey, hey, hey. Look at me. Rafe. Eyes on me, baby, c’mon— You’re okay. It’s gonna be okay. You can do this. It’s—” Sam choked on his words, struggled to recover. “I got you. You’re doing so good, sweetheart. So good. I got you.”

Rafe’s good eye widened. Sam felt his muscles contract, saw his chest compress—a series of shallow, rapid gasps, dampened by the pressure on Rafe’s body.

Sam held Rafe’s eyes with his, watched them loose focus. Afraid. Sam’s heart broke when he saw that last spark, the last of everything in Rafe—the fear, the anger, the hope, the love, the sadness, the regret. 

“I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Sam felt Rafe’s hand give one last feeble squeeze. 

And then Rafe gave himself up, gave himself over, let go.

And Sam watched a piece of himself flicker out, die out along with the light in Rafe’s eyes.

The water kept rushing, rising.

And Sam was sinking.

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

* * *

 

The bed was too big.

Too empty.

Sam opened his eyes— _expecting smoke, expecting fire, expecting_ —sitting up in bed, pushing back until he bumped against the headboard. 

His eyes were wide, brimming with tears. He was lost. 

He gradually came to himself, the shadow of the dream receding.

_Not on the ship.  
_

_Not on the ship.  
_

_Not—_

Sam slid back down, whimpering as he pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, willing away the memory—it came to him so often, invaded his sleep, tore him apart.

Sam rolled onto his side, his eyes were red, puffy. He laid one hand on the right side, on Rafe’s side. On a better day, he’d feel Rafe there, the steady, strong beat of his heart. The warmth of his skin. 

But today, absence. Emptiness.

Sam’s fingers tightened, gripped the sheet. He felt a fresh wave of agony, and where he thought he had no tears left, more came.

He closed his eyes, wished as hard as he could. Wished with all that he was. A swift, broken, desperate prayer.

_Come back. Come back. Come back._

His body reacted on habit, moving closer to Rafe’s side, as he always did when he reached out and couldn’t feel Rafe. 

On a better day, that’s all it would take, and he would reach a little further, and Rafe would be there.

But today, Sam was alone.

_Are you listening, sweetheart? Christ, I miss you._

Sam had fought so hard, fought until Rafe was his. And then he’d pushed him away. 

And now he was gone.

_Gone._

For a time, he’d been able to feel Rafe there. For a time, he’d press his face to the mattress and smell Rafe, but it was fainter now. Soon it would fade completely.

Sam hadn’t changed anything—Rafe’s laptop still sat on his desk, open. His email was still pulled up, his calendar. Sam knew if he woke the screen he’d see it. But he couldn’t bring himself to look.

The articles Rafe had printed out, spread across the surface of the desk. Rafe’s handwriting, notes to himself.

His shoes sat under the bench at the foot of their bed.

His favorite jacket, draped over the back of his favorite chair.

His watch, on it’s side, staring at Sam from the nightstand. The one thing Sam had been able to take with him as he and Nathan fled Avery’s ship. It was broken—the hands had stopped.

Little things, meaningless things—they were all Sam had left. They were everything.

Sam ached.

When he closed his eyes, when he pushed everything out, he could almost hear Rafe. Hear his fingers on the keyboard. Hear him tapping his pen against the desk absently while he checked his email, read an article. Sometimes, when he thought Sam was still asleep, he would hum to himself.

On a better day, Sam would move behind him, press a kiss to his shoulder, offer to refill his coffee.

But today, only silence.

Sam sighed, rolled out of bed. His feet were heavy as he walked toward the bathroom. Passed the closet. Lingered in the doorway.

_Don’t_ , he told himself.  _Don’t._

But he did.

He found himself on Rafe’s side of the closet. Rafe’s shirts, sweaters, jackets. His slacks. 

_Rafe._

Sam let his fingertips brush down the rows of hanging clothes, his heart broke again.

He moved closer, pressed his face between the shirts, inhaled deeply.

He glanced down, saw one shirt discarded, overlooked.

_Must’ve missed the hamper_.  _Typical. He always misses the friggin’ hamper._

Sam suddenly didn’t have the energy to stand. He sat down on the floor of the closet, his body trembling in an effort to hold himself together. He leaned forward, grabbed the shirt, pulled it slowly towards him.

The last shirt Rafe had changed out of. The last time he would ever miss the goddamn hamper.

On a better day, Sam would’ve tossed the shirt at Rafe while he sat at his desk, teased him about leaving it on the floor.

_But today…_

Sam pressed the shirt to his face. Rafe’s cologne. He took several deep, greedy breaths, squeezing his eyes shut.

After a moment, he stood, steadied himself, retreated back to the bed, Rafe’s shirt clutched to his stomach.

He slid back under the covers, one arm across the right side, Rafe’s side.

Scooted closer. A habit.

Their bed was too big. 

Too empty.

And today was not a better day.

 

 


End file.
